


The Beginnings of Cecily Strom

by brazenmagnolia



Category: Toy - Netta (Song)
Genre: Automaton, Gen, If a man using physical intimidation against a woman is not your thing please don't read this, Steampunk, physical intimidation, wrist grabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 03:40:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20383066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brazenmagnolia/pseuds/brazenmagnolia
Summary: As the song says, "I'm not your toy, you stupid boy."





	The Beginnings of Cecily Strom

**Author's Note:**

> Done for a 2018 Eurovision Tumblr contest! There is an instance in here where a man grabs a woman's wrist to stop her from leaving so if that is not good for you, please don't read this!

Jonathan entered the darkened flat, twisting on the lamp before moving to the coat rack to shuck his rain dampened hat and overcoat. Task successfully completed, he turned around to survey his newly illuminated living space. He was greeted by the usual debris of gadgets and gears, strewn between half filled tea cups and weighty tomes. The normal whir of ticking clocks and moving gears greeted his ears. Less than normal, however, was the sight of Cecily, standing in the main room, placing things in a large black carpetbag.

“Cecily, what are you doing?”

“Hello to you too, Jonathan. I’d rather inquire as to what you have been doing, but I know it’s drinking. How do I know, you might ask? I know because it is patently obvious I am packing- I’m sure if you weren’t foxed, you’dve realized that.” Having delivered her opening shot, Cecily picked up a small yellow cat gadget with an oddly shaped tail and began to put it in her bag. Jonathan blinked rapidly in succession, clearly having issues taking in this new information. It seemed Cecily’s assumption of his drinking was right. 

He then let out an exasperated sigh. “Cecily...” She looked up from positioning the cat toy in her bag, clearly not liking his tone. “Cecily,” he reiterated, speaking softly, “I haven’t been drinking. I’ve been at the Inventor’s Society- and no, I didn’t drink there, don’t give me that look. I was presenting on my newest invention, the electric bug zapper that you just packed away. Could you give it back? That little toy is mine.” As he was speaking, the vehemence in his voice grew, but Cecily remained unintimidated. She plucked the toy out of the bag (really, right after she’d found the perfect place for it too-the bag didn’t have much more room) and stood. She glided a few steps closer to Jonathan, then held the cat up in one hand, cupping the back with her other hand to better display it.

“This, Jonathan? This is your toy? I realize you invented it, but since it is my work that brought enough money to this house to purchase the parts for it, and paid all the bills while you worked on it, I believe it really should be ours. Or even mine. But it certainly isn’t yours.”

Jonathan glowered at her, then bit out “Oh it’s mine. It’s all mine-even you, Miss Cecily.” Cecily went still at that pronouncement, then walked backwards to her bag, her eyes firmly on Jonathan’s face the whole time. Without breaking her furious eye contact, she bent down and placed the cat in her bag. She snapped the bag shut, straightened, and then angrily strode over until she was mere inches from Jonathan. She placed her bag behind her, and then snorted, right in Jonathan’s face. While he’d kept a stony demeanor throughout the staring showdown, he flinched at the snort. Cecily crossed her arms over her chest in a self-satisfied manner and muttered “That’s what I thought.”

Then, in a louder voice, she began her rebuttal. “Jonathan, oh Jonathan, Jonathan darling,” she condescended, “you foolish, stupid boy. I’m not your toy. Certainly not anymore. Do you know what happened at the Eliot last week?” Jonathan, a confused look on his face, stared at Cecily, clearly bewildered at this change in subject. She snorted a sigh before continuing, “You don’t, Jonathan. And since you haven’t asked how my day is going in over a year, I really wouldn’t expect you to. But back to last week- I was doing my stretches after another successful performance of Swan Lake at the Eliot Hall when this small man bursts into my lounge. He was twitching with nervous excitement and shook my arm so hard I thought it might fall off. But that didn’t matter, because what he said was so nice. He said his name was Alex Cooper and that he was a talent scout for club in San Francisco and that based on my performance, he’d be a fool not to try to recruit me. He called me a Wonder Woman, Jonathan! A Wonder Woman! I think that’s the nicest thing that anyone’s every said to me.” 

Jonathan had stayed quiet while Cecily was talking, but at this he scoffed. “Really, Cece? The nicest thing anyone’s every said to you? You’re a ballerina, not an actress-there’s no need to be that dramatic. And San Francisco, Cecily? Really? How do you purpose to do that- all of my contacts, the entire workshop- they’re all here, in Boston. That’s just entirely out of the question.”

Cecily rolled her eyes at this, causing Jonathan to flinch- it could be a bit disturbing when she did that. She reached to the coat rack behind him and picked up his slightly damp hat. She plopped it on her head, balancing it perfectly on her high bun. “Oh Jonathan- still using the ‘my’ like it would mean something to me? I’m not your toy and I don’t give a damn about your contacts. This job opportunity isn’t for you; it’s for me. I have been vastly underappreciated in this household, and I think it’s high time I take my earning power elsewhere. I will be appreciated in San Francisco like I never was here, and since you won’t be along-as you pointed out, all your contacts are here-I’ll be able to keep all the money I make to myself. Now you’re all caught up, so I’ll take my leave. Ta-ta!” With that, she swirled, picked up the bag, and gracefully glided out the door. Or almost out the door-Jonathan caught her wrist before she could fully leave.

“Cecily, what are you doing? You can’t leave! You can’t do anything on your own- they haven’t allowed it yet!” She sighed and pressed her other hand into a tender spot on Jonathan’s wrist, breaking his grip. She stood, facing him with her bag as a shield between them, the door resting lightly on her shoulder. The rain had turned to a fine mist that faintly obscured her features, the light from the main indoor gas lamp not being strong enough to pierce through her watery veil. The hat also functioned to hide her face, so when she replied it seemed as if a Voice of Judgment had come from the heavens to pass its pronouncement onto Jonathan.

“When I called you a stupid boy, Jonathan, I wasn’t joking. Although unobservant and uninterested might be better adjectives. Which really, when combined, mean neglectful. And you have neglected me Jonathan- you spent more time with that bug zapper in the past week than you have with me in the past two years. Some might even say you’ve been criminally neglectful- and you know what? I would agree with them. It’s not as if I haven’t tried to talk to you- but every time I’m home from practice, you’re at that damn Inventor’s Club! And since the Inventor’s Club keeps track of when its members come and go (and how much they drink, might I add) I was able to prove to others how neglectful you’ve been. By others, I mean the legislature- the ‘them’ to whom you referred. Since I had proof not only of your neglect, but also of my ability to live on my own through ballet, they transferred guardianship of myself from you to me. So when I said I’m not your toy, I meant it in an emotional and legal sense-I’m nobody’s toy but my own now.” While speaking, Cecily crouched down and snapped open her bag. From it she pulled a long thin pierce of metal, with an odd curved hook at the end. However, this action and the hook remained fairly hidden from Jonathan due to the mist. He’d seen her rummaging around but hadn’t paid much attention to her movements, instead focusing on her words. As she straightened back up, he leaned against the doorway, the lamplight throwing his newly emerged smirk into stark relief. Crossing his arms, he shook his head slightly and let out a sardonic chuckle.

“You talk a big game, Cece, I’ll give you that. And petitioning the legislature? It’s impressive. But for all your big talk of legal and mental independence, I think you’re forgetting one thing. Listen.” And then he stopped speaking and swept his arm back, inviting Cecily to take in the cacophony of the workshop apartment. “You hear that? Those gears, those whirrs, those clicks? They’re all powered by machinery that requires winding; so far we haven’t come up with a self-wound machine. But you know that, Cecily- you get wound every night at the theater. Otherwise, due to my ‘criminal neglect’ you would’ve stopped working ages ago. You’ve certainly taken me down legally-I’ll be the laughingstock of the Club when they hear my ballerina doll claimed her independence through an act of the legislature. But physical escape? Across the country, no less? Pray tell, Cecily, however do you plan to accomplish that?” Clearly pleased at delivering this reality check, Jonathan gazed into the gloom, one eyebrow arched and an annoyed, skeptical expression on his face. Suddenly, out of the mist, a metal glint caught his eye-it was the hook! Cecily thrust it into his face, close enough for him to survey it. She let it sit there a moment, but as he uncrossed his arms and leaned in for further contemplation, she jerked it back. 

“No no, Jon-this is mine. This simple little metal hook- so easy but so vital. With it, I can grasp my turner myself, and complete the windup process solo.” She let that sink in for a minute, and then continued, “I realize I’ve now ruined your enjoyment in killing my plan. Well, let me make your ruination complete. Goodbye Jonathan- I’m my own toy now.” With that, she picked up her carpetbag doorstop and moved out of the way, allowing the door to slam in Jonathan’s face. She turned, and began leaping down the walk towards the train station. She had an appointment in San Francisco in two weeks, and she didn’t intend to be late.

So thus began the life of Cecily Strom, the first fully autonomous automaton.


End file.
